


Broke

by HellsPurestDevil



Series: Project Mythicus [6]
Category: Hamilton - Miranda, Hamilton - Miranda (Broadway Cast) RPF
Genre: Black Eye, Bruises, Gen, Minor Injuries, Past Injuries, Past Violence, broken ribs, cot, exorcism gone wrong, work related injuries
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-18
Updated: 2019-06-18
Packaged: 2020-05-14 03:56:47
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 861
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19265428
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HellsPurestDevil/pseuds/HellsPurestDevil
Summary: Getting hurt on the job was normal, you never always walked out unscathed....so what was the problem





	Broke

His need to relieve himself had much exceeded his want to stay comfortable in the cot he was laying in and sleep the rest of the day away. The cot was hard albeit, but in the last three years or so he had lain on harder. He struggled his eyes open with great effort. They seemed gummed shut and the right one, the one that had been hit by what he would describe as a _runaway moon_ , would only come to half-mast.   


Thomas was asleep in the corner, sitting on a plastic lawn chair he dragged in from the hallway.  But Philip refuses too bother him cause fuck it he can do it on his own. Jagged pain ran through the left side of his ribs as carefully, he propped himself on his elbows, let his feet drop over the edge of the cot, and then swung up to a sitting position. The large economy-size pain rocked his head again and his backbone gave out an alarming creak. His stomach rolled alarmingly in his gut, and a fainting kind of nausea seized him, the most dismaying and unmanning kind, the kind that makes you feel like crying out to God to make it stop. After sitting down long enough to feel like he wouldn't pass out, and pushing back the pain-induced bile that ran up his throat, Philip pushed away, bracing himself with a hand beside the wall where the mirror lay hanging. After he was done relieving himself, he looked apprehensively into the bowl for signs of blood. But he was clear. He flushed it anyways.

Shuffling like an old man to the mirror, Philip used both his arms-one on either side of the mirror- to brace himself as he pitched toward the mirror

He had opted to take his shirt off a while ago. The bruising in the mirror is spectacular.

 _Holy Jesus Philip_ … he thought to himself solemnly

Philip’s belly and ribcage looked like a Canadian sunrise, mottled bruising making its way up from right below his ribcage to under his left breast. His face looked a little worse for wear as well. And there was a terrible aching throb throughout the left side of his ribcage.

" _You look awful_ " Thomas suddenly says with a slight dry laugh.

Philip ignored him, running his free hand over his face, counting all the cuts and bruises that are left there. There are five in total one above his right eye, two on his lip, and one on either cheek. His left eye was nearly swollen shut, only able to open half mast, while he’s sporting a massive shiner on the other.

What happened that morning had been foggy. Not that he was surprised, exorcisms were always foggy to remember. What he did remember was the exorcism had gone off without a hitch and everything seemed to be fine. Only there had been this strange silence, silence to the point you could hear a pin drop, or your blood flowing throughout your veins. And then suddenly, without warning, as if by some great force, Philip had found himself being flung across the room at alarming speed. He remembered hitting something hard, remembered hearing something crash and break as his head knocked against a glowing moon that had come streaking across his vision. Then everything had gone dark, like it was suddenly going now.

Black dots were starting to form in his vision, every deep breath a new agony. Where his hand lay on his side, his side felt thicker and was tender. He shut his eyes and took in a deep breath.

Thomas saunters calmly over, pokes and prods at Philip. At last he examined the bruising of his left and right eye, the only part of him despite his ribs that really hurt now, in spite of the spectacular bruises.

A thumb brushes gently over his right eye as Thomas hears a small whimper escape from the young man's lips

“That desk lamp you hit really got ya good..”

_A lamp …The shrieking moon?_

There's a sigh that takes Philip out of his thoughts. “ _Why do you do this to yourself kid_ ….”

Philip looked at him puzzled. What did Thomas mean?

He wasn't a little kid anymore. He was used to getting hurt on the job. They all were. He himself had broken close to every bone in his body if you were too add it all together. This time around he had walked way with a few broken ribs. Nothing new and certainly nothing he couldn't handle, he counted that as a win….

_So why didn't anyone else_

“Talk to me, kid...please?’

Philip doesn't realize he's not paying attention to Thomas anymore. Philip doesn't answer even if he knows he should. The two don't say anything for a while instead they stare at each other, a natural silence falling between them.  

Philip moves first, simply shuffling awkwardly around, back to the cot. He lays back down slowly, facing away from the older man, heart beating hard. The geometric prints behind his eye are nauseating. He closes it again, sees squares.

 _Cause it’s the only thing i can do_ \-   


 


End file.
